We were young parents of four and had just learned I was pregnant—with twins. When the shock wore off, elation took over. Our joy was boundless and we shifted into high gear. This news changed everything. We needed a larger house to accommodate six children and, of course, a bigger car.

We were soaring, emotionally and practically. Then, April 22 came. Joy and Peace were born four months early, and our soaring expectations plummeted. We fell from an emotional high to a staggering low. If they were born today they may have lived, but in 1982 the doctors didn’t even attempt to save them.

 Why am I writing about this now?

Tuesday was their birthday and memories surfaced. Details filed away for years returned with clarity. I don’t know why. Maybe so I could share this with you, for your own comfort or to encourage you to comfort a friend.

Miscarriage or death at birth is a loss. A grieving mother does not need to hear that she’s still young, or that at least she has other children, or that this was probably for the best.

She needs her loss to be acknowledged, her sorrow to be affirmed, her needs to be met. She needs time. Her pain will lessen but her loss will never be forgotten, even 43 years later.

I’m fine. I no longer need ministry because my babies died. But somebody does.

There’s a mother out there who is grieving. Someone is marking the anniversary of a child’s death and wonders if anyone else remembers. A mother somewhere needs to talk and be heard. She doesn’t need to hear anything, except you’re sorry for her loss. Pain is isolating. Send a card or give a call, but don’t let her sit alone in her sorrow.

Maybe this is why my memories returned.

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.
When they are troubled, we will be able
to give them the same comfort God has given us.
2 Corinthians 1:4 NLT